


A Hole in the World

by FriendofCarlotta



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, At least through 15x13, Because The Empty Is a Dick, Canon-Compliant, Cas' Deal with the Empty, Dean Winchester POV, F/F, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, So Alternate Season 15 I guess, This was supposed to be an episode coda for Destiny's Child but it got away from me, some homophobic language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:47:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23761798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendofCarlotta/pseuds/FriendofCarlotta
Summary: Dean wakes up one morning, and everything just feels off. Like something (or someone) has been taken from him. There's a room in the bunker he can barely get himself to look at anymore. There's a mug with a naked angel on it that he knows used to be funny, but he can't remember why.When Dean decides he needs answers, he heads to Sioux Falls to let Patience poke around in his memories. Armed with the knowledge of what they've lost, Team Free Will 2.0 and the Wayward Sisters get ready for their last, greatest fight: the fight to tell their own story.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Kaia Nieves/Claire Novak
Comments: 64
Kudos: 230





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic is a nod to one of my favorite episodes of "Angel," which deals with the pain of losing a loved one unexpectedly. 
> 
> That said, the idea for this was inspired by Cliophilyra and her beautiful fic [The Story We Are Telling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23176510), which you should absolutely read.
> 
> I really hope you enjoy. Comments and kudos make my day!

_There’s a hole in the world._

Dean wakes up, and the thought is just… there. He has no idea where it came from. And what the hell does it even mean?

Must be something to do with a dream he had.

He lies there for a moment and thinks. He can’t remember exactly what he’d been dreaming about.

That’s a good thing. The nightmares — Michael, hell and every other goddamn awful thing crowding up his subconscious — those he always remembers.

Maybe it was the dream about flying. He remembers that sometimes after he has it. Not like flying in those metal death traps. Real flying, with wings.

But that dream usually makes him feel good. It definitely doesn’t make him feel like this. Like there’s a weight on his chest. Like there’s a whisper in his ear.

_There’s a hole in the world._

OK, he can figure this out. He just has to think. Maybe it’s something that happened the night before?

He thinks back to last night. Jack, sitting in the kitchen, crying and begging forgiveness for what he did to Mary. Sam, walking toward Jack, pulling him off his seat and wrapping him up in a tight hug that seemed like it would never end.

But it did end, and eventually, Jack had turned to Dean. His eyes red and swollen and filled with hope, but not just that. Also fear. Fear that Dean would turn around and walk away; wouldn’t ever find it in himself to grant the forgiveness Jack wanted.

And Dean hadn’t thought he could find it. But seeing Jack, his _son_ , look at him like that… it had clarified a lot of things. So Dean had stepped forward, and he’d held Jack. Longer than he’d ever held anyone, maybe.

They’d sat for hours, not talking about Mary, because they’d said everything they needed to say about that. Just talking. And when Jack’s exhaustion finally caught up with him, Dean had pulled him in close again and whispered in his ear, “I love you, kiddo.”

So no, that’s not it. That’s good. For once, Dean feels confident he did exactly the right thing.

Eventually, he decides he might be able to think better with a cup of coffee in him. Or three. So he heaves himself out of bed, braced for the twinge in his knee and the uncomfortable pull in his lower back. Both are pretty much constant companions these days.

Resigned to today being a shitty day, Dean slips on his robe and shuffles to the kitchen.

No one else seems to be up yet, but that’s not unusual, so he just gets the coffee going and glances around. The kitchen looks just the same as always. There’s nothing missing as far as he can tell.

He walks back to his room again while the coffee brews. His weapons are on the wall. His laptop is on the desk, where he left it last night. Everything is in its place.

Having made his way back to the kitchen, he pours himself a cup of plain black, no sugar, in his favorite mug. The one that has a couple of chubby cupids on it, wearing nothing but diapers and halos.

For a second, his brain stalls on something. He’s trying to remember why he likes this mug so much. It’s a joke, he thinks. He remembers seeing it at the store and laughing at it like a maniac. But what’s the joke?

There’s that feeling again. He’s not lying down anymore, obviously, but somehow it still feels like someone’s sitting on his chest. He pulls in a deep breath, just to make sure he can.

Picking up his coffee, he wanders to the library, then to the war room. He walks the mug to the shower room, the gun range, even the dungeon.

On the way back to his bedroom, he lets his eyes slide over every door, still trying to pin down the source of his uneasiness. It’s like that feeling you get when you leave on a trip; like there just has to be something you forgot to take.

Except it’s much, much worse.

His eyes slide over the brass number 15 on one of the bedrooms.

Distantly, he hears the mug break as it falls to the floor. The thing that’s been whispering inside his head ever since he woke up is screaming at him now.

Whatever it is, it has to do with this room.

Dean thinks. His mom had sometimes used this room. But he knows she’s gone. His chest aches with it every day, but it’s a familiar ache. Whatever this is, it’s new.

Dean feels the coffee he spilled soaking his socked feet. He needs to get a paper towel or something.

Instead, he steps forward and opens the door to Room 15.

There’s nothing in here. Not a single personal thing. It looks exactly like every other unused bedroom in the bunker.

Dean takes a deep breath and walks away to get a paper towel.

***

When Sam and Jack finally make an appearance, Dean’s jumpy and irritable, and he keeps being that way for the next three days, because he can’t seem to get any closer to figuring out what the hell is going on.

He tries talking to Sam about it, kind of, but it’s hard to explain.

“So you’re, what, hearing voices?” Sam asks, trying to look like he’s in neutral, problem-solving mode, but his worried frown gives him away.

“No, man,” Dean says, trying not to let his frustration show. They’re sitting around the map table, laptops open in front of them.

Dean’s been trying to figure out how to Google what’s wrong with him. Unsurprisingly, it hasn’t worked very well. WebMD thinks it could be cancer or schizophrenia or maybe the flu.

“It’s more like… my own head trying to talk to me if that makes sense.”

Judging by Sam’s expression, it doesn’t. “Um… and what’s your head telling you?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. But it feels like… something I forgot. Or something that should be here, but isn’t.”

“Hmm. You think it’s supernatural?”

Dean thinks while he picks up the shot of whiskey he’s been trying his hardest to nurse. He’s been drinking more these past couple of days. If he’s totally honest, he nurses in front of Sam, then takes swigs straight from the bottle when he knows no one’s looking.

“Not sure. Definitely feels like something messing with my head, but it’s not like we’ve been around any witches lately.”

“Still,” Sam says thoughtfully, taking a sip of his no doubt heart-healthy, doctor-approved smoothie. “Could be anything. There’s a ton of artifacts around the bunker that you might have touched. Hell, could be Chuck.”

Dean nods slowly. That idea had occurred to him, though he’s been trying not to think about it too hard. “So, Eileen…”

He doesn’t miss the way Sam flinches at the mention of the name.

“When… when Chuck was messing with her, how did it feel? Did she say?”

“Don’t think it felt like anything. And then when he started making her actually… do stuff…” Sam takes a deep breath, visibly forcing himself to keep going. “Well, it seemed like it felt awful. But after, we didn’t really get much of a chance to talk about it. Haven’t exactly wanted to bring it up.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Dean says slowly. He wonders if it’s too soon to down the rest of his shot and get another. He doesn’t want Sam worried. Well, not any more than he already is.

“Have you thought about seeing a psychic?”

“Don’t know,” Dean says, slouching in his chair and folding up his arms behind his back for a good stretch; mostly to give himself time to think. “This feels too personal to unload on some stranger. And all the psychics we used to know… Pamela, Missouri. Well, they’re not exactly around anymore.”

Finally, Sam says, “What about Patience?”

“Nah. I don’t need to bother her with this.”

Sam huffs impatiently. “Come on, Dean. You know she’s been helping Jody and Claire with cases. It’s not like you’d be dragging her into anything she’s not already part of.”

“Just… I don’t know, man.” What little relaxation Dean got from stretching is already giving way to more of that itchy uneasiness. He fidgets in his chair, trying to get rid of it. Doesn’t work, of course. “For the longest time, it seemed like she wanted nothing to do with the life. And that was good. She’s young, she’s smart, and we should be trying to get her out, not keep her in.”

“I get that. I do,” Sam says, and his face has that “I feel your pain” expression that makes Dean want to cringe but also makes his heart feel about three sizes too big for his own chest. “Maybe you could just… go up there for a visit. Not necessarily even to consult her, but just see if she picks up on any weird psychic vibes.”

And there’s an idea. Going to see Jody. Maybe what Dean needs is to let his best mom substitute take care of him for a while.

He’d never admit out loud that that’s a thing he wants, but at least he’s too old to lie to himself about it.


	2. Chapter 2

Jody is thrilled when Dean calls, and she encourages him to bring Jack along too.

Unlike Sam, Jack doesn’t seem bothered by Dean’s weird mood, so the two of them pile into the Impala together for the drive to Sioux Falls.

Even though Dean still feels off, spending time with Jack is easy. Jack doesn’t mind carrying the conversation, and his enthusiastic retellings of good movies he’s watched recently carry them through Kansas and halfway into Nebraska.

Dean feels himself start to loosen up and he even chips in with some recommendations for other movies Jack might like. By the time they stop for lunch at a roadside diner, he definitely feels lighter than he has since that first morning.

All that comes crashing down when the waitress leaves to put in their order and Jack says, “Something’s wrong. You feel it too, right?”

Dean thinks about denying and deflecting, but Jack’s a perceptive kid. He’d see right through it.

“Yeah,” he admits. “Everything’s felt… off for the past couple of days.”

Jack’s face lights up. “I thought so. I was worried you were angry with me about something at first, but you don’t seem to be.”

Despite the unease that’s creeping back up his spine, Dean smiles at Jack. “No, kiddo. Nothing to do with you. Though, if I’m honest, I have no idea what the hell it _is_ about.”

Jack nods thoughtfully and uses his index finger to wipe up a bead of condensation from the cup in front of him. It claims to be Coke but is actually mostly ice. “It does feel very strange. Like… something is missing that should be here.”

Dean practically slumps with relief. So he’s not going crazy. Or if he is, Jack is right there with him. “Yeah, exactly. Like that time Dr. Sexy got selective amnesia. Like, everything else was normal, but he forgot he had a wife.”

Jack tilts his head and frowns, apparently confused by the reference.

The sight of the mannerism tears through Dean like a physical wound. He can’t breathe. The voice in the back of his head is screaming again; a wordless, agonized thing.

Opposite him, Jack looks terrified. He reaches out a hand for Dean’s arm, but seems reluctant to touch. “Dean, are you OK?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean forces out, trying hard to get his breathing under control. “It… it got bad just then. Really bad. Don’t know why.”

He tries to change the subject, but conversation doesn’t flow as easily as before. Their food arrives 10 minutes later; Dean can barely get himself to touch it.

***

Dean doesn’t start to feel like himself again until he walks through the front door of Jody’s house the following afternoon and finds himself enveloped in a tight flannel hug.

Jody smiles at him and Jack with that easy warmth and confidence she seems to have in endless supply, and Dean mentally pats himself on the back. Coming here was a really good decision.

“Where are the girls?” he asks, and the grin he gives Jody comes easier than he thought it would.

“Alex has a shift at the hospital and Patience is at school. Claire and Kaia are in the back yard though.” Jody shoots him a conspiratorial wink. “Feel free to go see them, but you might want to announce yourself.”

Dean frowns at that. “Why?”

“Just in case they’re making out,” Jody announces matter-of-factly. “Jack, you feel like helping me with dinner?”

Jack happily trudges after Jody, and Dean stands there for half a minute, thunderstruck. How did he not know about this? And why is he always the last one to figure out when two people have a thing going?

Eventually, he does go outside.

He finds Claire and Kaia standing side by side in the middle of the yard, about 10 paces from a plank of wood with soup cans lined up all along it.

Kaia is the one holding the gun. Even from 20 feet away, Dean recognizes a .45 caliber; same as the one he prefers.

Claire is squatting next to Kaia’s legs to correct her stance and being just a little more handsy about it than she needs to be. As a result, she’s pretty distracted, but Kaia catches Dean’s eye and is about to say hi. Dean shakes his head at her and puts a finger to his lips.

Then he clears his throat. Loudly.

He’s pretty delighted with himself when Claire gives a yelp and takes an undignified tumble onto her rear end.

“Holy crap, Dean!” Claire scowls up at him. “You don’t sneak up on people when there’s a loaded gun in the mix.”

Dean chuckles. “Kaia knew I was there. Just wanted to see how high you’d jump.”

Claire is still scowling, but lets herself be pulled into a hug eventually. Dean notes with approval that Kaia carefully engages the safety on the gun and puts it down on the nearby picnic table before she comes over to join them.

Kaia looks a lot better than the last time Dean saw her. Her cheeks are fuller and that haunted look in her eyes has given place to something that seems awfully close to happiness, especially when her eyes meet Claire’s.

Fighting past a sudden tightness in his chest, Dean says, “How are you guys doing?” Why does every single thing have to make him feel weird lately?

“Really good,” Claire says, and the smile she aims at Kaia is the brightest Dean’s ever seen on her face. “I’m teaching Kaia some self-defense skills. Living in a house full of hunters, she’ll need them.”

Kaia’s answering grin is smaller and a little shy, but her face shines with awe and open affection. Like spending time with Claire is something special, and Kaia can’t quite believe she’s allowed to do it.

Dean tries to remember if anyone’s ever looked at him that way. The knot in his chest tightens, because he could swear he’s seen that look on _someone_.

For the briefest moment, a memory flashes in the back of his mind. A pair of warm blue eyes looking at him, sitting atop a shy smile just like Kaia’s.

Dean’s face falls, and he watches as Claire and Kaia’s own cheerful expressions fade in response. He gropes around for some excuse, but another voice chooses that moment to speak up.

“Oh my God.”

Dean turns to find Patience standing at the top of the small staircase that leads from the patio to the yard. She’s staring at him with open horror. “What happened to you?”

Dean thinks about pretending he has no idea what she’s talking about. But damn, he just has to figure out what’s wrong with him, so instead he says, “Don’t really know. I was hoping _you_ could tell me.”

***

That’s how, half an hour later, Dean finds himself on his back on the living room couch.

Patience is holding his hand, eyes closed and brows furrowed with concentration. Everyone else has gone outside to give them some privacy.

“I’ve never really done this before, so I don’t know if it’ll work,” Patience says apologetically. “But we need to put you in a kind of sleep state so I can access your memories without your consciousness getting in the way.”

Dean takes a deep breath. Making his own mind vulnerable like this is pretty much his worst nightmare. Especially around someone he barely knows. But he needs to figure out this weird feeling before it drives him all the way crazy.

“Yeah, OK. Do your thing.”

Patience nods, visibly gathering herself. “Close your eyes. I’m going to count down from 10. By the time I get to 1, you’ll be asleep.”

Dean hears Patience starting to count down.

Until he doesn’t.

Instead, he’s standing in Chuck’s living room.

Opposite Chuck himself.

Dean braces himself for a fight, but then he realizes something. Chuck is dressed in a ratty robe and sweatpants. He’s on the phone with someone, and he looks just as shocked and wrong-footed as Dean feels.

“Wait. Th… this isn’t supposed to happen,” Chuck says.

A tinny voice sounds dimly over the phone’s speaker and, still looking thunderstruck, Chuck answers, “No, lady, _this_ is definitely supposed to happen. I just got to call you back.”

With a jolt, Dean realizes he remembers this conversation. It happened more than a decade ago, but it was pretty memorable.

Next, he’s going to ask about Sam, and Chuck is going to tell him that Sam is at a convent called St. Mary’s. And then…

Suddenly, the memory, if that’s what this is, skips.

“You guys aren’t supposed to be here,” Chuck says, and then he looks at a point slightly to Dean’s right. “You’re not in this story.”

Dean tries to follow Chuck’s line of sight, but there’s no one there. Dean is alone, and his head feels like it’s splitting in two. This is wrong. Everything about this feels _wrong_.

And suddenly, Dean knows what he has to do.

He reaches for Chuck, and he grabs on.

It’s like stepping into a tornado. Impressions, colors, memories of a boundless existence flash by in the blink of an eye. Galaxies. Mountains. A newborn baby. Armies meeting on a battlefield. Too fast to process.

The only thing Dean can think to do is to keep holding on to Chuck and focus on that empty space next to him he saw in his own memory. _Really_ focus on it.

Suddenly, he’s next to a lakeshore, and there’s Chuck, talking to Metatron of all people.

“You know, I love those guys, but the world would still be spinning with Demon Dean in it. But Sam couldn’t have that, though, could he? And so how is Amara being out on me?”

Metatron frowns at him. “It’s not. But I… you helped the Winchesters before.”

“ _Helped_ them?” There’s an angry glint in Chuck’s eye, just a hint of the pettiness Dean knows is hiding under that easygoing exterior. “I’ve saved them! I’ve rebuilt Castiel more times than I can remember! Look where _that_ got me!”

_Castiel._

Something shakes loose inside Dean. He tries so hard to focus on why he knows that name, he loses his grip on the memory.

All at once, he’s back in the swirling chaos. He’s inside an anthill. He’s on Mars. He’s in the middle of a crowded city street.

 _Castiel_ , he thinks, trying hard to anchor himself to something, anything. _Cas_ \- he starts to think again, and then just stops. _Cas._

He’s in a living room, looking through it into some kind of home office. Chuck is pacing up and down in front of a woman who’s sitting at a desk. It takes Dean a minute to put a name to the face, but then it comes to him: Becky. That crazy fangirl who put the love spell on Sam.

She doesn’t look so crazy now; just apprehensive. “The jeopardy, Chuck. It’s feeling a little… thin? Low stakes? It’s fun to hear the boys’ voices, but a story is only as good as its villain, and these villains are just not feeling very… dangerous? Not to mention, there’s no classic rock. And no one even mentions Cas.”

That feeling is back, more insistent than ever. Cas. That name means something to him. He knows it does. If only he could see what the guy looks like.

As soon as Dean makes his wish, the scene around him changes. He’s standing in some kind of electronics store, facing a wall of flat-screen TVs. On a recliner next to him is a scrawny kid in a sales-guy uniform.

Chuck is pacing again, this time in front of the screens, each of which is showing a different peaceful nature scene. He’s clearly revving up for a speech.

“I created the world,” Chuck is saying, and as he points at one of the screens behind him, it suddenly changes. A second ago, there was a mist-shrouded forest, but now there’s Dean, sitting at the kitchen table in the bunker. And next to him…

_Cas._

Chuck keeps talking and pacing, more and more of the screens switching over to what he says are other versions of Sam and Dean. Dean watches himself shoot his own brother in the head and forces himself to remember that Sam, _his_ Sam, is whole and healthy, back at the bunker.

And besides, for whatever reason, none of those other screens show Cas at all, so Dean’s eyes keep getting drawn back to the original one. On that screen, Sam has joined Cas and Dean in the bunker’s kitchen now, but the image keeps returning to just the two of them, hunched over the table, bodies turned toward each other.

“I got the bug,” Chuck says, blue eyes alight with manic glee. “I kept creating. I made… other worlds. Different combinations, scenarios, characters. Different versions of the same characters.”

The longer Dean focuses on the screen, the more he can feel his mind curling around the memory, trying to hold on to it. He and Cas were trying to pick up the pieces after the spell to contain Chuck failed. They’d gone all the way to Purgatory… for nothing.

Except, no. Not for nothing. They’d made amends; fixed what had been broken between them for much too long. (Of course, Dean had still chickened out of telling Cas how he truly feels about him; the time just hadn’t seemed right. Again.)

In the meantime, Chuck had worked his hardest to destroy Sam’s hope that God himself could be defeated. He’d been so focused on that, he clearly hadn’t realized that Dean got his own hope back that day.

Because that’s just it, isn’t it? As long as Cas is there, fighting with him, Dean will _always_ have hope. He used to know that, but with the whole, messy Chuck reveal, he’d just… forgotten.

Now Cas is gone again; not just dead, but erased from the memories of everyone who ever knew him. And with the certainty of breathing, Dean knows that Chuck’s the one who made it happen.

That’s when he wakes up.

***

“How the hell did we forget about Cas?” Sam’s voice sounds tinny through the speaker of Dean’s phone. He also sounds about as put out as Dean feels.

It’s a couple of hours later, just after dinner, and everyone’s gathered around Jody’s dining-room table to strategize. Dean’s phone is right in the center of the table, framed by Dean, Jack, Jody, Alex and Patience. Claire and Kaia are cuddling on the nearby couch.

Dean can’t help thinking it’s a sign of how much Claire cares about Kaia that she’s relaxed like this, instead of pushing herself front and center as they draw up their battle plan.

Jack frowns at the phone. “Except we didn’t; not completely. Dean knew something was wrong, and I got the same feeling.”

Dean fidgets a little at being called out like this. He’s relieved no one seems to realize that while Jack felt like something was a little off, Dean’s basically been unable to function like a normal human being. If Jack can tell how much worse the whole thing has been affecting Dean, he thankfully hasn’t mentioned it.

Sam’s voice scrapes out of the speaker again. Dean can hear his kid brother’s brain going a mile a minute even over the phone line. “Dean, you’re sure it was Chuck?”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense to me. I mean, Cas…” Dean takes a breath. It’s still hard to even get the name out without that uneasy feeling crawling all over him. “He was gone from my own memories and all of yours, but as soon as I hacked into Chuck’s memories or whatever, there he was.”

“Yeah, and how the hell did you do that?” Jody asks over the rim of her generously filled wine glass. “I mean, he’s supposed to be God, right? You just touch him while you’re inside your own head and boom, you’ve hacked into his mainframe?”

Patience looks vaguely surprised to be speaking up when she says, “I think I know why.”

Jody raises her eyebrows at her, but somehow manages to make it encouraging instead of judgmental. “What do you got?”

Patience still looks a little nervous, but her voice is steady when she says, “So Chuck created everything, right? But for some reason, he feels closer to you guys than to anybody else. Because you’re the heroes of his story.”

Dean scoffs. “Yeah. His favorite fucking toys. Great times.”

That earns him a mom scowl from Jody. “Dean. Language.”

Alex chuckles and throws a glance back at Claire, who smirks back, the two of them clearly bonding over how often they’ve been on the receiving end of Jody’s disapproval. Now Dean’s the one in the doghouse.

“Sorry, Jody,” he says, expression appropriately cowed.

Jody nods her curt approval, then says, “Go on, Patience.”

“Well, so what if it goes both ways?”

Sam’s frown is basically audible. “What do you mean?”

“What if you’re especially plugged into Chuck? Like, what if you have a kind of access to his mind that ordinary people don’t have?”

“I guess that makes as much sense as anything else,” Dean says on a heavy exhale, because this whole Chuck clusterfuck will apparently never stop throwing curveballs at them.

Jody gives Patience a warm smile. “Good thinking.”

Patience practically lights up under Jody’s approval. Jody has that effect on people.

“So what can we actually do about any of this though?” Alex asks, her calm practicality an uncanny mirror of Jody’s. Dean can see why they hit it off so well from the start.

A crackle sounds from Dean’s phone, like Sam is shifting a pile of papers, or maybe a stack of books. It’s easy to picture him surrounded by bucketloads of lore at the bunker’s library table. Finally, he says, “If Cas is really gone, then… I’m not sure there’s anything.”

Dean’s heart sinks all the way to the bottoms of his feet. This is what he was afraid of.

But that’s when Jack catches his eye. “ _If_ he’s really gone. But I don’t think so, somehow.”

Dean clings onto that statement like the lifeline it is. “Explain.”

“For one, when Dean came back and told us about Cas, we all suddenly remembered him again. I don’t think we’d be able to if he was really all the way gone.”

Dean lets himself float in sweet relief for a moment. That makes sense. Except… “You said ‘for one.’ What else?”

“Well…” Jack glances around at the table. “Billie has been teaching me a lot of things about Chuck. Such as that The Empty is one of the few things that he’s afraid of.”

Now this is information they could have used earlier in the game, Dean thinks, but carefully clamps down on his annoyance. “Why?”

“Because he doesn’t have power over it,” Jack says, without hesitation. “The Empty isn’t part of Chuck’s creation. Chuck can’t control it. I think he’d try to avoid upsetting it.”

“What does all that have to do with Cas?” Sam asks, and Dean silently thanks him for dragging this crazy conversation back to the point.

“Well…” Jack suddenly looks uncomfortable. He pauses and takes in the faces all around the table. “I’m not sure I should be telling you all about this.”

Dean doesn’t think he can be blamed for needing to keep an extra tight grip on his temper in response to that statement. “Kid, if you know something that can help us get Cas back, you’d damn well better spill.”

Jody shoots him a quelling glance and Sam actually clears his throat like the dork he is, so Dean pipes down for now.

Turning to Jack, Jody says, “Why don’t you think you should tell us?”

Jack still looks uneasy, but like everyone, he melts just a little under Jody’s attention. “Cas didn’t want to worry you. So I promised him I wouldn’t tell.”

And that’s it. There’s Dean’s temper. “You what?!”

Jack flinches a little at that and Dean feels bad immediately. “Sorry, kid. Just… spit it out, alright?”

“Cas made a deal with The Empty,” Jack says quietly.

Dean really wants to interrupt again, or let out a string of swears, or something, but Jody heads him off with a small gesture. Reluctantly, Dean leans back and waves his hand at Jack to keep going.

“When Cas came to Heaven to get my soul back, The Empty possessed an angel and followed him. It was going to take me, so Cas offered himself instead. The Empty was still holding a grudge from when Cas was there before and woke it up. So it seemed pretty eager to have him.”

They all consider that for a moment. “So you think Chuck would be worried about breaking The Empty’s deal with Cas,” Alex sums up.

Jack nods eagerly. “Yes, exactly. I think he either would have made his own plans with The Empty to get it to collect early. Or he just waited until Cas’ deal came due and then made sure we didn’t come after him.”

“Why though?” Claire pipes up from the couch. “What’s Chuck’s problem with Cas?”

They all look at each other for a moment, but no one seems to have any bright ideas. Other than Chuck’s general dickishness toward all his so-called heroes, but Dean doesn’t figure that part needs to be said again.

“So if we think the deal came due, what did it entail?” Sam’s tinny voice asks over the speaker.

That makes Jack look uncomfortable all over again. “The Empty wanted him to suffer. It said it would come for him when he…” Jack frowns, clearly trying to remember details. “… finally gave himself permission to be happy.”

Dean doesn’t know what to do with this information, even a little, but luckily, Sam seems to. “Couldn’t say Cas looked that happy to me the past few days. Unless there’s something I don’t know about.” He leaves a pointed silence at the end of that statement, and it somehow _sounds_ like it’s aimed at Dean, who pretends to be very busy studying a hangnail on his left hand.

Before the whole thing can get any more uncomfortable, Jody decides to give Dean a break by cutting right to the heart of the problem. “So if we want Cas back, someone needs to go to The Empty and get him.”

“I’ll go.” The words are out of Dean’s mouth before he can stop them, and he knows everyone’s looking at him. He’s just grateful that he can’t see Sam’s “I feel your pain” face, which is surely turned up to 11.

Skating right over the elephant in the room, Dean decides to get everyone focused on the game plan again. “How do I get there?”

“I’ve been to The Empty. I can get you there,” Jack says, with so much confidence that Dean kind of wonders where he got that, having been raised by three insecure, emotionally stunted train wrecks. (Yeah, he’ll happily include Sam in that definition.)

Over the next couple of hours, they all hammer out the beginnings of a plan. Jack will use his powers to access The Empty and try to locate Cas, then transport Dean as close as possible to him.

Meanwhile, Sam will drive up to join them and provide additional backup.

Jody, Alex, Claire, Patience and Kaia will take charge of warding the house and arm themselves with all the weapons they can lay hands on. Not that too many of those weapons are likely to be effective against God himself, Dean figures, but it’ll still feel better than marching into battle empty-handed.

Dean mentions at one point that him and Jack should do this back at the bunker and not drag their friends into their mess with Chuck, but he’s shouted down.

Then, Claire tries to argue that if anyone should get to bow out of the fight, it’s Kaia, which results in Kaia dragging her down the hall for what sounds like a pretty fierce argument.

Dean tries hard not to listen, but he can vaguely make out things like, “Why the hell would you teach me to defend myself and then treat me like a child?” and “You think I’m leaving you here by yourself to fight _God_? Give me a break, Claire!”

Claire’s objections seem to get quieter after that. When the two of them walk back into the living room, Claire still looks mutinous, but Kaia carries herself with the easy confidence of someone who knows they’ve won the battle.

***

After they get most of the details of the plan worked out, it doesn’t take long for Dean to get tired of the crowd.

He sneaks a beer from the fridge and ducks out onto the back patio, slumping into an Adirondack chair with a bone-weary sigh. Several days of not sleeping well and just generally feeling off are finally starting to catch up to him.

Dean’s trying his hardest to turn off his brain, which is still spinning in frantic circles, when he hears the glass door that leads back to the kitchen open and shut behind him.

Claire flops into the chair next to Dean’s and gives him a vague salute with a beer of her own. Dean responds with his best “disapproving dad” eyebrow. It’s not very good; he hasn’t had much practice with it.

“Dude, I’m 22,” Claire says in answer to his unasked question. “Keep up.”

“22. Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Great. More proof that Dean’s officially as old as dirt. Doesn’t seem like that long ago when he first met Claire as a kid of 12. Before Dean, Sam and Cas between them screwed up her family for good.

They say nothing for a while, content to watch the setting sun paint the sky a pretty, golden-edged pink.

Finally, Dean figures he should at least bring up the obvious though. “So you and Kaia, huh?”

He looks over at Claire, who’s got her knees drawn up to her chest and is staring into the far distance. One side of her lips quirks up in a smile that’s the closest thing to content Dean’s ever seen on her face. “Yeah. Me and Kaia.”

She looks over at Dean, raising a single brow at him in an expression that weirdly reminds him of Cas. He wonders if it’s a Jimmy thing that just kind of bled into Cas’ mannerisms somehow. “You got a problem with that?”

It’s got the sound of a challenge, but there’s less heat behind it than there would have been in Claire’s teenage years. Like she’s willing to fight Dean on this, but he might walk away with all his limbs still attached.

“No, no problem at all. Nice to see you happy.”

To show he means it, Dean gives her the closest thing to a reassuring smile he can manage when his brain still feels like it’s been shifted a little to the left of his body.

And lo and behold, there’s a full-on grin on Claire’s face now, with not an ounce of sarcasm or attitude behind it. She’s almost unrecognizable, but it’s a good look on her.

Dean chalks it up as a peaceful moment, but it’s short-lived, because the next thing out of Claire’s mouth is, “So you and Cas, huh?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean manages to say, then squirms so much in his chair that he’s probably undermining his own point quite a lot.

Claire gives that statement the response that even Dean knows it deserves: “Bullshit.”

Dean’s next strategy is to say nothing and see if he can wait Claire out. Doesn’t exactly seem to be working, because she’s keeping the conversation going, whether or not Dean’s a willing participant.

“Don’t think I haven’t seen you two making heart eyes at each other. It’s kind of disgusting, actually. And not just because of the whole wearing-my-dad’s-body issue.”

Dean winces. Cas has been the only one occupying Jimmy’s body for years now, but it’s still unpleasant every time he’s reminded that all those things Dean’s spent years admiring when no one’s looking — the sharp jawline, the messy dark hair, the strong but trim frame — were someone else’s first.

When Dean looks back up at Claire, though, he’s surprised to find there’s something warm in the way she’s looking at him. “Don’t worry. I’m as over it as I’ll ever be. I guess what I’m trying to say is, I know what it’s like to realize you’re in love with someone and lose them. It’s awful. But then, when you get another chance to do things right…” She shifts so she’s facing Dean fully, making sure she’s got his attention. “You need to actually do them right.”

Dean’s not really sure what to say to that, and maybe he doesn’t need to say anything. So they just end up sitting there in peaceful silence for a few more minutes, and eventually Dean shuffles off to bed.

***

It takes Dean a long time to fall asleep.

Every time he’s close to nodding off, he panics. What if he wakes up and all his memories of Cas are gone again?

So instead of getting the rest he should on the night before a high-stakes, inter-dimensional rescue mission, he makes himself relive every memory of Cas he can dredge up.

He pictures all those times he stood just close enough to Cas to feel the warmth radiating off him, or those precious few moments when it seemed OK to hug and he actually got to feel the weirdly natural way their bodies fit together.

He pictures sitting in the bunker’s kitchen with Cas and Sam, reminiscing about Jack right after his death, and the way Cas’ face lit up when Dean reminded him of the time Jack discovered PB&J and wouldn’t eat anything else for a week.

He pictures the times when Cas was angry with him, like that time he was going to say yes to Michael. (The first time. God, his life is ridiculous.) For that matter, the second time, when Dean did say yes, and Cas looked at Dean like his whole world was falling to pieces and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it.

On balance, Dean thinks, Cas has looked at him like that far too many times. If there’s anything he should be taking away from this whole experience, it’s that he needs to make a future happen where he sees Cas smiling more often than he sees him heartbroken.

Then he has another thought. It’s entirely possible that he doesn’t get to make any kind of future that includes Cas. They have a plan for getting Dean to The Empty, but no plan at all for what he’s supposed to do to get Cas out. Based on everything Jack’s said, The Empty isn’t going to let him go without a fight.

Claire’s words race around his mind like a frenzied pinball. “When you get another chance to do things right, you need to actually do them right.”

It’s depressing as hell, but he might actually take life advice from a 22-year-old. No harm in it if it’s good advice, right?

On that slightly more comforting thought, Dean finally dozes off.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the homophobic-language tag comes into play. It's a very short scene, but it's meant to hurt, so if that is an issue for you, proceed with caution.

The next day passes in a blur.

Sam arrives some time in the late morning, having driven through most of the night. Dean watches as his brother helps Jody and the girls with the warding sigils on all the windows and doors, but he can’t seem to sit still. He tries every chair and reasonably flat surface in the place. There’s an itch under his skin that won’t let him rest.

He just needs to get going. Now.

Finally, Jody gets tired of Dean’s fidgeting and makes him help her with a last inventory of their weapons; an impressive array of shotguns and handguns loaded with every kind of creature-killing bullet they have (which is a lot). Salt. Silver blades. (They decided against the holy water. For all they know, it’ll give Chuck some kind of power boost.)

Then, as the light starts to dim outside, they put the plan into motion.

Jack and Dean are going to do their thing in Alex’s bedroom, with Alex and Kaia keeping an eye on them. Sam, Claire and Jody, the strongest fighters, will be outside, patrolling the perimeter. Patience is going to supervise everything from the center of the house, while staying alert to any visions that might come her way.

When Dean finally takes his place on a chair in the middle of Alex’s room, Jack moves to stand in front of him.

Alex and Kaia are lounging on the bed, backs against the wall, feet crossed leisurely, but that picture of relaxation is undermined a little by the guns resting at their sides.

When everyone is settled, Jack gives Dean a reassuring smile. “I’m going to try to reach The Empty and get a lock on Cas,” he says. Dean should probably be worried that his three-year-old is the calming force in this situation, but he’s too tightly wound to care. “Once I’ve got him, I’ll touch you and send you there.”

“You’re sure this’ll work, right?” Dean can’t help asking.

Jack shrugs and grins. “80 percent.”

Dean’s planning to come up with a snappy response to that, but Jack is already powering up, irises glowing amber. Jack closes his eyes then, but Dean can still see them moving behind their lids with dizzying speed.

What feels like a really short time later, Jack says, “I’ve got him. Ready, Dean?”

Before Dean can so much as decide on his response, Jack places his fingertips on either side of Dean’s forehead.

There’s a rush that feels like falling through ice. And then…

Dean opens his eyes. At least, he thinks he does.

It makes no difference, because there’s nothing to see.

Boundless, ink-black emptiness stretches on every side of him.

Dean knows, rationally, that this place is filled with sleeping angels and demons. But there’s no sign of any presence, living or dead, anywhere.

Dean thought maybe The Empty would feel cold, or hot as hell fire, but it’s neither. It’s not even room temperature. It just… isn’t, somehow.

Vaguely, Dean wonders whether he can even feel his own body. He pinches himself. There’s a dull ache, but it’s muted, maybe like the sympathy twinge you’d feel if you watched somebody else get pinched.

The same, unfortunately, isn’t true of the fear crawling under his skin. If anything, it feels more real here. Like the place was built to feed on it, and it’s sucking Dean dry for all it’s worth.

And then, from one breath to the next, he’s not alone anymore.

Dean blinks, willing his brain to accept the reality in front of him.

“Mom?”

Mary gives him exactly the warm, gentle smile Dean pictured whenever he tried to remember what his mom was like; before he met her again in the flesh and realized that, if anything, she was a little on the distant side.

“Dean,” she says, and it’s the sound of well-aged whiskey running over fresh ice cubes. “You finally came. I’ve missed you so much.”

She’s so close. All it would take for Dean to touch her is two steps, at most. He wants to take those steps. So badly.

But something about this feels wrong. He flashes back to years ago, at a diner in Oregon. A cold, ancient thing wearing his mother’s face, trying to claim it was just like her — making sacrifices for its children.

Dean takes a deep breath and builds up every protective barrier he carries in his soul, brick by brick. When he trusts himself to speak, he says, “You know, I’ve seen monsters wearing my mom’s face before. It’s so last season.” He takes a moment to think. “Actually, it’s so nine seasons ago.”

Mary’s face shifts with an alien, liquid grace. When she speaks, that whiskey smoothness is gone. Instead, her voice is all hard, jagged rocks waiting for travelers to take an unwary step on the path above. “Not mommy you want, is it?”

Mary’s image dissolves into a writhing, inky black, glutinous shape. It’s vaguely human, and yet the furthest thing from it.

“Well, how about daddy?” says the thing wearing John Winchester’s face.

For several seconds, Dean’s lungs feel too tight to contain his frantic breaths. Even with decades worth of hunter’s instinct, it takes a monumental effort to calm himself and focus on the problem at hand.

“Still a parlor trick,” he says, working to fill his voice with a bravado he’s not feeling. “You’re not him.”

“You sure about that?” says The Empty, considering Dean with vague interest. Like he’s a too-easy crossword puzzle you’d do to pass the time, but not get really invested in.

“What if I said that I expected better of you, son?” Not-John starts to circle Dean, and it isn’t helping Dean’s mental state that the loping strides match his father’s to a T. “Didn’t I tell you to watch our for Sammy after I was gone? And what did you do, hmm?”

Dean shudders at the oily, insinuating tone. He’s never heard his father’s voice sound like that, but the words ring true because he’s heard John say them inside his own head so many times.

“You let him rot in Lucifer’s cage,” The Empty says, voice steadily rising. “You let him walk around, killing, soulless, for a _year_ , Dean. You let him damn near kill himself trying to close the gates of hell.”

Dean’s ears are ringing with the voice. It’s everywhere. It’s inside his head, under his skin. “I did the best that I could,” he grits out, every syllable scraping his throat raw. “Sam is his own man. Better man than I am, actually.”

The Empty laughs, or at least Dean thinks it does. He feels sick with the wrongness of the sound.

“What if I told you,” The Empty says, still circling, “that there’s more disappointment for us to work through. Oh, so much more.” Barely contained glee colors every syllable now, and Dean can’t help his stomach clenching in response.

“You’re a deviant, son,” the voice hisses, right in Dean’s ear. He wants to pull away so badly, and it takes every ounce of strength he has to stand his ground. “You think I didn’t know? All those times you snuck away to some bar and came home smelling like another man’s cologne?” Impossibly closer, The Empty whispers, “I knew. And I was disgusted.”

Dean swallows hard. All his physical sensations still feel muted, but even so, he’s digging his fingernails into his palms hard enough that they’re singing with pain.

“What do you think I’d say,” The Empty hisses, circling again, “if I knew about your more recent perversion?”

An obscene smile stretches John Winchester’s features, distorting them beyond recognition. “Your dreams of defiling an angel of the Lord.”

The Empty inches closer again, and it feels like it’s moving in for the kill this time. Dean has never been more aware of the fact that none of the weapons he usually carries can put a single dent in that thing. Even so, if push comes to shove, he’ll try to put up a fight.

Dean doesn’t think he closed his eyes, but he must have, because when he opens them again to investigate the eerie silence around him, it’s to find himself face to face with Cas.

“You might think I saved you from hell, Dean,” that old, familiar voice rumbles. “But if I knew about the depraved things you’ve imagined doing with me, I’d throw you right back in.”

Dean closes his eyes again and shakes his head over and over, the action pure reflex. _Not Cas_ , he tells his brain on a frantic loop. _Not Cas. Not Cas._

When he hears the voice again, its cold fury hasn’t diminished. But there’s something else there; something that isn’t cold at all. It’s white-hot and righteous.

“Get away from him.”

If Dean thought only fear and other negative emotions felt amplified in The Empty’s strange, corrupted atmosphere, he was apparently wrong. The wave of relief that sweeps through him now almost bowls him over.

He opens his eyes to find two angels in trench coats, staring each other down with naked hatred.

“Why do you keep waking _up_ ,” Empty-Cas hisses. “You’re supposed to be sleeping!”

Cas’ eyes sparkle with a strange mix of rage and triumph. “Because unlike the other angels and demons, I seem to have people who care enough to want me back.”

The Empty seems to consider this for a moment; then, its cold gaze turns calculating. “Well, it’s not as though it matters. By the time I’m done with you and pretty boy over here, you’ll beg me to let you fall asleep.”

With a twist of Empty-Cas’ hand, real Cas crumples to the floor, a yell of agony escaping his lips. It travels through Dean’s bones like sharp, blazing steel. Before his brain can catch up, he has moved to kneel next to Cas.

Cas’ face is distorted with pain, but when his eyes lock with Dean’s, Dean lets his happiness at seeing Cas, maybe not alive, but whole and _here_ , flow through him for just an instant.

In that same instant, the black around him flickers, revealing a split-second’s glimpse of Alex’s bedroom all around them.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees something shiver through Empty-Cas’ face. He could swear it’s fear. Interesting.

Real Cas blinks in confusion for a moment, then looks back at Dean, face lit up with awe. “What did you do?”

Forgetting that they’re hunched defenselessly next to a torture-happy cosmic entity with a grudge, Dean grins at Cas for all he’s worth. “I came for you.”

Cas returns the grin, with interest. “You did. But that’s not what I meant. What did you do just now?”

Before Dean can gather his thoughts and respond, The Empty is next to him, hissing in his ear. It’s wearing his father’s face again. “It doesn’t matter, son. No matter what you do, you will never leave this place. You and your angel are stuck with me for the rest of time.”

At that, Cas crumples again, and Dean feels searing, mind-numbing agony saturate every single muscle of his own body. His brain is quickly shutting down, every single part of him focused on the pain.

When it finally subsides, Dean’s breath is coming in short bursts and there’s a persistent ache all over his body, but the instinct to fight back with sass is basically second nature to him. “Nice try, but it’ll take more than a bit of torture to impress me. You might like to know that God himself tried to erase my memories of Cas so I wouldn’t come after him. Doesn’t look like that worked out so well, huh?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees Cas staring at him. He turns to look, and there’s something unfathomable in the angel’s eyes. Like shock and amazement mixed with concern for Dean, and exasperation that he’s getting cheeky with an all-powerful being. Just like old times then.

Empty-Cas is back now, eyes flashing dangerously. “Compared to me, God is a puppet show. So don’t fool yourself. You’re not getting out.”

Somehow, the second time the pain hits, it’s worse. There’s screaming in Dean’s ears, and he doesn’t even know if it’s him or Cas. Everything in his body is on fire. It’s no good. They need to get out right now.

Hands clawing at his face and muscles clenching, Dean forces his brain to work. There was something. Something he did that made The Empty lose its power over them for the barest fraction of a second.

Suddenly, miraculously, Jack’s voice floats through his head. “The Empty wanted him to suffer. It said it would come for him when he finally gave himself permission to be happy.”

That’s it.

“I let myself be happy,” he grits out and reaches for Cas’ shoulder, willing him to look up. “That’s what I did, Cas. I let myself be happy.”

He can see the moment when the haze of pain clouding Cas’ eyes starts to clear. “The Empty is a place of suffering,” Cas whispers. “Anyone who is truly happy while they’re here… The Empty wouldn’t be able to contain them.”

Above them, Empty-Cas’ hand twists again, sending a fresh wave of agony through every fiber of Dean’s being. Cas’ eyes leave Dean’s and he crumples into a defensive crouch, every part of him tense.

Dean doesn’t even think. On pure instinct, he reaches for Cas’ hand. Cas rises to his knees, but slumps against Dean, his strength sapped.

Dean lifts Cas’ head where it’s leaning against his shoulder and cups it in both hands.

He’s half unconscious with the pain now, but there’s enough strength left for this. There has to be.

Dean leans forward, touching his lips to Cas’.

He wills the pain into a corner of his body and locks it there, focused on nothing but the warm softness against his mouth.

Dean can feel the exact moment it works.

All the tension bleeds out of Cas’ body and he leans into Dean, pressing their lips together.

Vaguely, distantly, Dean hears a scream of utter, horrifying rage. It doesn’t matter. What matters is their lips, touching, moving against each other, making the pain recede into the far distance.

When they break apart, it’s to find Kaia, Alex and Jack sitting on Alex’s bed, gaping at them.

“Well, um,” Alex says, trying and failing to suppress a grin, “welcome back, guys?”


	4. Chapter 4

Dean should probably be embarrassed.

It’s hard to do though when his entire field of vision is taken up by Cas, looking at Dean with this awed expression and saying over and over again, “You came for me. You really came for me.”

“’Course I came for you,” Dean mutters, and there it is: embarrassment. “What makes you think I wouldn’t?”

Cas’ face stills and he bites his lip like he’s trying to keep something from spilling out. Finally, he says, “You said Chuck took your memories of me.”

Dean prays to whoever the hell’s still listening that he’s not blushing. “He did, but I, um. I knew something was wrong. Came up to Jody’s place — that’s where we are, by the way — and had one of her foster daughters, Patience, take a look at me. She’s psychic. She helped me remember you.”

“I’ll make sure to thank her,” Cas says softly, but then there’s an ear-splitting whoop and Jack essentially jumps on top of them.

At the exact same moment, Sam and Jody burst through the door, Claire and Patience at their heels.

“You guys OK?” Sam demands, eyes frantically scanning the room and landing on the new occupant. “Cas!”

Sam takes Cas’ hand and pulls him up, in an unconscious callback to Dean’s much more romantic (if he says so himself) gesture a minute ago. Then, he folds Cas into a clearly bone-crushing hug.

“We saw this huge blaze of light come from the bedroom, and we thought maybe you were back. Or maybe Chuck…” Sam shakes his head, apparently still trying to get his bearings. He looks around at everyone again and beams at Cas. “But you’re good, Cas?”

Cas smiles warmly at Sam. “Yes, I’m fine, thanks to Dean.” He glances around. “And Patience.” Patience gives him a shy little wave from her place near the doorframe.

“Good. That’s good,” Sam says and claps Dean on the shoulder for a job well done. “What happened, Cas? Jack told us about your deal. We figured maybe Chuck got The Empty to collect early somehow.”

“It didn’t collect early,” Cas says, so quietly that even Dean almost doesn’t hear him.

Sam frowns, but doesn’t push, maybe sensing this is hardly the time to give Cas the third degree.

After a small, awkward pause and some more mutual hugging and backslapping, they all file out of the room, and there’s a weird little shuffle where Dean tries to let Cas walk through the doorway first, but Cas apparently had the same idea. In the end, Cas nudges Dean forward with a gentle touch to his elbow, and even that simple contact is enough to make Dean feel just a little unsteady.

When they get to the living room, Chuck is sitting in one of the armchairs.

Their apparently useless warding symbols are slowly dripping blood down the window frames and onto the upholstery. Their carefully chosen arsenal of weaponry is piled in the corner next to the fireplace. Out of reach.

Chuck, as always going for effect, has his fingertips tented like some kind of Bond villain.

“You guys are fucking annoying, you know that?” Chuck says around a smirk that’s completely disconnected from the cold fury in his eyes.

Even though no part of Dean’s body is currently touching Cas, he can feel the rage building in him before it erupts. Cas is practically shaking with it.

“You had no right!” he growls, his usual composure cracking under the weight of hurt and anger. “I spent millennia thinking of you as my father. When I finally realized you were completely indifferent to me and every other angel you made, I created a family of my own here on earth. You had no right to take that away from me!”

Chuck looks Cas up and down, taking his measure. “Hey, I’m not the one who made a deal with The Empty. I just did a little bit of cleanup to make sure there weren’t any loose ends back here. And before you get all high and mighty, yeah, I created you. Just like every other ass clown in this room. If I wanted them to forget about you, I had _every_ right to make them.”

Dean can feel his own rage boiling up from the tips of his toes; every muscle in his body is poised for a fight. But before he can get a word out, Sam jumps into the fray.

“You think just because you created us, we’re yours to do with whatever the hell you want? That’s not how it works, Chuck.” Sam spits out the name like it’s something poisonous coating his tongue, and he needs to get it out at all costs. “You don’t get to give us the capacity for free will and then have a temper tantrum when we decide to use it.”

“You. Don’t. Have. Free. Will,” Chuck hisses at Sam. “I’m the one pulling the strings. If you think you get to make your own calls, it’s because I made you think so.”

“You’re wrong,” Dean says, the thought forming in his head even as he speaks. He surprises himself with how matter-of-fact he sounds. “And what you did to Cas proves it.”

Chuck turns and leers at Dean. “Don’t strain your head, Dean. I didn’t create you to be a thinker. That’s Sam’s department, and even he’s not that great at it.”

Dean clenches his hands until he can feel his knuckles straining against his skin, but he manages to push past the insult.

“You’re trying to distract me because you know I’ve got it right. Cas was always screwing things up for you. He was never supposed to rebel against Heaven. I remember the way you looked at us when we showed up at your house that night. You were totally thrown. You told Cas and me that we weren’t supposed to be there. That we weren’t in the story.” Dean pauses, wetting his lips. He chances a glance at Cas, who is staring back, blue eyes gleaming with emotion.

Cas gives the smallest possible nod, but it’s enough to keep Dean going. “You wanted the story to end then and there. You wanted your apocalypse death match, brother against brother. But Cas stopped it. When I was ready to say yes to Michael, he stopped me. No one else could’ve gotten to me in time.”

“Oh come on,” Chuck is saying, giving a little snicker, but it sounds forced. “I rebuilt Cas more times than even I can remember. And I’ve got the whole infinite memory thing going for me. Why would I do that if he wasn’t doing exactly what I wanted him to?”

Dean doesn’t have an answer for that, but luckily, Sam seems to. “You rebuilt Cas because you got interested. You wanted to know where he’d take the story.”

Chuck looks like he’s going to argue, but eventually, he just shrugs. “So sue me. In every other version of the story, Uriel killed him, after Cas figured out Uriel was in league with Lucifer. That one time he didn’t die, I was… intrigued by the possibilities.”

Dean’s back in his groove now. “But after a while, you realized that you’d never get Cas to behave the way you wanted,” he says. “He’d always go rogue and screw up your plans by helping us.”

“The Leviathans,” Cas grits out suddenly, anger still radiating off him in waves. “You were trying to write me out of the story.”

Chuck shrugs, unconcerned mask back in place. “Yeah, the Leviathans were supposed to kill you for good. I figured your character was played out once the whole apocalypse thing didn’t happen. But turns out the story just wasn’t as interesting without you anymore. Dean especially. Carrying that trench coat around with him and moping all over the place. Not. Interesting,” Chuck says, tapping the armrest of his chair for emphasis. “So I brought you back. Again. The whole amnesia thing was a little trite, I’ll admit, but it worked.”

“All the times I left the bunker,” Cas says, his voice balanced on the edge of a knife. “All the times I went on some errand, thinking Heaven needed me. You were trying to keep me away; make me stay in my own lane, away from Sam and Dean.”

Chuck’s unpleasant smirk makes another appearance. “Mostly from Dean, to be honest. When I realized what was going on between you two, I made sure to keep you at a distance. I mean, I was trying to write a story about monsters, and you two kept turning it into a gay pinefest.”

A collective intake of breath rattles around the room. Dean stares at his shoes; he doesn’t think he could look at Cas right now if he got paid money to do it.

Chuck almost looks uncomfortable, like he’s given too much away, but then shrugs it off. “When The Empty showed up to collect on its deal, I figured I’d avoid a repeat of angsty Dean and just wipe the angel off everyone’s hard drives.” Chuck leans back and crosses his arms, looking extremely pleased with himself. “So you see, it doesn’t matter whether Feathers has another lease on life or not. I can snap my fingers and take him out of the picture again. And trust me, I’ll be a lot more thorough this time.”

“You can try,” Dean forces out between clenched teeth. “I’ll find him again.”

Chuck gives Dean a look that’s almost fond. “There he is. My gritty, scrappy hero.”

Just then, the sound of a gun’s safety being pulled back echoes through the room, and everyone’s heads spin to face it.

Kaia is standing next to the front door, holding the .45. Dean figures she must have brought it along from Alex’s room, because there’s no way she could have snuck past everyone in plain sight to grab it off the weapons pile by the fireplace.

“So yeah, maybe you created all of us,” Kaia says, her words edged with a fury that’s wholly unlike the defeated hurt she used to carry. “But you had no right to take what you took from Dean and Cas. And you had no right to take what you took from me. I was supposed to be able to walk across other worlds, but you destroyed ever single one of them. I was just learning how to control my powers and turn them into something good. Something that would help the people I loved. Now, I couldn’t dreamwalk anymore if I tried.”

Kaia’s voice has been steadily rising this whole time, but her last words come out as a snarl: “You had no right!”

Dean wonders if she’s deliberately echoing Cas’ words from before. Her whole face is blazing. Inspired. A quick look to where Claire is standing, just out of reach of Kaia, shows Dean that she’s equal parts awed and terrified.

“Babe, no,” Claire pleads, every line of her body seeming to strain toward Kaia, but deliberately holding back in the face of a loaded gun.

Chuck frowns at Kaia like she’s a fly squatting on his dinner. “Which one are you again? Wait, wait. Don’t tell me. I remember you.” His face clears. “You hated being a dreamwalker. I fixed it. You’re welcome.”

“Taking away my powers wasn’t your choice to make. They were a part of me,” Kaia says, and then she’s striding towards Chuck, gun pointed straight at his chest.

If Dean didn’t know better, he’d swear Chuck flinches for a second, but his voice is easy when he says, “You know that thing can’t kill me.”

Kaia grits her teeth, eyes blazing. “Maybe I just want it to hurt.”

When the bullet hits, Chuck is thrown off balance by the impact for just a second, slumping back into the chair.

It’s enough. Enough for Jack to take three big steps and close in on Chuck, raising a finger to each of Chuck’s temples.

When Jack speaks, his usually sunny demeanor is displaced by cold, bottomless hurt. “You set up my entire life as a means to an end,” he says, his eyes blazing amber again and a crackle like lightning moving across the room. “The only thing you had planned for me was that I’d do something so horrible, Sam and Dean would never be able to forgive me. You wanted Dean to shoot me with the Equalizer and kill himself at the same time. You made sure my soul was gone so I couldn’t feel what I was doing and wouldn’t get in the way of your plan. So I wouldn’t become another Cas.”

Chuck can’t seem to move, Jack’s hands holding him in place. His eyes are darting back and forth between Jack, Sam, Dean and Cas.

“But I got my soul back when I went to the Garden,” Jack says, voice rising. Dean feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up with the raw power flowing through the room. “Now, for the rest of my life, I’ll feel the horror of every single thing I’ve ever done. And you’re the one who made me do it.” Jack’s practically screaming now. “You had no right!”

And then the world slows down around them, every inch of Jack’s form seeming to glow. In an instant that lasts forever, Chuck’s eyes light up the same amber color as Jack’s, and forks of lightning travel down the sides of Chuck’s face, originating at the points where he and Jack are connected.

A blinding, thrumming wave of light envelops everyone in the room, and Dean’s eyes close without his permission. There’s a roaring in his ears, and he’s vaguely aware that he’s sunk to the floor. Warm, sure, trench-coated arms wrap around him, shielding him.

After a few more seconds, silence.

Dean chances a squint through his eyelids, and he’s a little lost, because there’s Jack, backing away, and Chuck’s still sitting in the armchair.

Then it happens.

Chuck’s body stays where it is, but a pale, insubstantial thing that looks like him rises from the seat.

The spirit glances around in confusion until its eyes light on the woman in the corner. There is a kind smile on her face that even the gleaming silver scythe in her right hand somehow doesn’t undermine.

“Hello,” she tells the spirit. “My name is Billie. I’m here to take you to your next life.”

The spirit returns Billie’s smile and, with the trust of a small child, takes her hand. They turn to leave and, as the headlights of a passing car paint streaks of gold along the walls of Jody’s living room, Dean realizes that they’re gone.

He knows, without needing to be told, that they’re heading for The Empty.


	5. Chapter 5

There’s really not much to say after that.

They all move through the house like the spirit they watched Chuck become; quiet, unsure of what’s next.

Jody vaguely suggests that they all go to bed, but everyone just kind of stays sitting in the living room, staring off into the distance.

It’s really done. Chuck is finally gone.

Jody eventually slides onto the floor, back resting against the couch, Patience and Alex leaning against each of her shoulders. Claire and Kaia’s limbs are once again entwined on the couch. They’re exchanging quiet, fond glances and little caresses.

Dean, who’s slumped into the armchair that held Chuck’s body — buried now in the woods out back — looks over at the two of them and then at Cas, who is slouching in a chair at the dining room table next to Sam. Dean wishes they could curl up together just like that, but they haven’t talked. He comforts himself with a strange and daring thought: There’ll be time for that. Nothing but time.

When the sun finally rises, it prompts everyone to spring into action. Coffee is made, then bacon and eggs. Goodbyes are said and hugs exchanged, then Sam gets into the classy 1956 Thunderbird he drove up here.

No one really discusses it, but it’s understood that Cas is going to ride back with Dean.

***

For a couple of hours, they just drive. Everything still seems too big and too fresh to find words for it.

After they stop for gas and more coffee, though, Dean feels sufficiently connected to reality again to say, “Of all the places I thought our showdown with Chuck might go down, Jody’s living room definitely wasn’t on the list.”

Cas huffs a quiet laugh. “Probably not the most obvious venue for a confrontation with cosmic consequences.”

Dean looks down and notices that Cas’ left hand is resting on the bench seat between them. He kind of wants to take it in his, and then remembers that maybe he can.

Turning his eyes back to the road, he moves his right hand off Baby’s steering wheel and inches it toward Cas’ fingers. When it gets there, he can see Cas shift in surprise, and Dean almost withdraws, but then Cas reaches out and threads their fingers together.

“I’m very glad you came for me,” he says quietly, and Dean vaguely takes offense at the tone of surprise. “I thought I’d be sleeping in that place for the rest of eternity.”

Feeling daring, Dean gives Cas’ hand a reassuring squeeze. “Come to think of it, how did you manage to wake up? Was it Jack again?”

Cas looks like he’s hesitating, but not like he’s thinking about the answer. Like he knows exactly what to say and is fighting to get the words past his throat. “No,” he says finally. “It wasn’t Jack. It was you.”

Dean takes his eyes off the road again, and he should probably pull over for this conversation. “Me? How could it have been? I didn’t even find you. You were the one who found me.”

Dean thanks whoever the hell is in charge of his luck now, because there’s a rest area coming up on the right.

As Dean pulls off the road and into the nearest parking space, Cas says, “I think the reason angels and demons sleep forever in The Empty is because there is no external stimulus whatsoever. Each of us is completely alone there, dreaming of our worst memories and greatest regrets over and over again.”

Dean’s heart sinks all the way to the bottom of his stomach. “I didn’t know,” he almost-whispers as he lets go of Cas’ hand to turn off the engine. “I didn’t know you could dream there. I thought it was just… nothing.”

“When I came back the first time, it didn’t seem important to mention. I didn’t exactly want to relive the experience,” Cas says, focusing all his attention on a loose thread in the lining of his coat. “But what I’m trying to say is that when you got to The Empty, I felt it. Your fear, your distress… it was so _loud_. I was drawn to it like a homing beacon.”

Dean’s first instinct is to deny that he was afraid, but he knows Cas won’t believe him. He can’t even convince himself. He can still feel echoes of that clammy, gripping dread crawling all over him if he thinks too hard about it. “If I was that loud, why didn’t I wake up every angel and demon in the place?”

“I don’t think they would have heard you. It felt like you were calling out only to me.” Cas shrugs, failing miserably at trying to make it look casual. “You probably didn’t realize you were doing it. Just a subconscious action because I was the one you were trying to find.”

Dean nods slowly. He thinks about taking Cas’ hand again, but Cas looks so vulnerable; like he’ll fall to pieces if he’s touched right now. In fact, he looks afraid.

“When we get back to the bunker, do… do you still want me to leave?”

It takes Dean a minute to process that question, but even then, he’s completely lost. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Cas flinches, and sure, maybe that came out a little sharper than Dean meant, but he feels like he’s missed a step, or maybe 10, in this conversation. “Seriously, Cas, why do you think I want you to leave? Leave to go where?”

Cas is looking about as confused as Dean’s feeling. “You said you wanted me to leave the bunker. And that…” Cas swallows hard. “That you never wanted to see me again.”

Dean’s trying to figure out why Cas would joke about something like that, but he can tell by Cas’ stricken expression that he means every word. “I think I’d remember saying something like that, Cas.”

Something clears in Cas’ expression then. “You didn’t… it wasn’t…” Dean can practically feel a metric ton of weight drop off Cas’ shoulders when he says, “It wasn’t you.”

“Hold your horses.” Dean still feels a step behind. “What wasn’t me?”

Cas takes a deep breath, bracing himself. “The night The Empty took me, I’d gone for a walk to give you and Sam some privacy to talk things out with Jack. But I’d seen you hugging Jack, and I just… I knew things would be all right. It seemed like we’d all get to be a family again, in spite of everything that’s happened.”

Cas looks like something’s broken loose inside him, and he couldn’t stop the words from coming if he wanted to, so Dean nods along quietly and lets him talk.

“Even with Chuck still out there, I… I was happy. And for the first time since it happened, I wasn’t even thinking about…” He looks up at Dean, something cautious creeping into his expression. “You know about the deal I made?”

Dean nods, pretending to be interested in a couple of birds fighting over a Cheeto out in the parking lot. “Jack told us. You’re an idiot for doing that, by the way.” He looks back at Cas’ vulnerable expression and can’t resist softening the words with a smile. “I get why you did it, but you’re still an idiot.”

Cas returns his smile ruefully. “Believe me, I know. And in hindsight, I was stupid to think… I should have known it wasn’t you. The Empty had told me it would come for me when I was happy. When I’d gone back to my normal life and forgotten about our deal. And that’s exactly what happened. I came back to the bunker and you were standing outside the back door, looking up at the stars. Like you were waiting for me.”

“I wasn’t,” Dean says, now itching with the need to touch Cas, but it seems like Cas still needs to get the rest of this out, so Dean gets himself back under control. “I was in the bunker the whole time, talking to Jack. And then I went straight to bed.”

Cas shakes his head slowly. “It must have been The Empty, wearing your face. That explains why I don’t remember anything between the end of our… of the conversation, and being asleep in that place.” With a hard swallow, he adds, “It’s just… it felt so real.”

“This not-me. Empty-me. What did you talk to him about?” Dean asks, kind of afraid of the answer.

Now it’s Cas’ turn to watch the birds peck the last few dregs of orange off the tarmac. “I… like I said, I was happy, and everything suddenly felt light and easy. You were smiling at me, and the moonlight… you looked…” Cas breaks off then, biting his lip.

And that’s it; Dean’s done trying to give Cas his space. Instead, he scoots close on the bench seat and takes Cas’ hand again, his other hand rising of its own volition to run through Cas’ hair. “Hey. Hey, it’s OK. I promise it’s OK. Tell me.”

“I told you how I feel about you,” Cas whispers. “I told you that I love you.”

Dean’s throat feels so dry, he’s amazed he can get this next part out at all. “What did I say?”

Cas takes a deep breath, and for a second, it seems as though he’s about to cry. Dean really doesn’t think he’s equipped to deal with a crying angel. But after a moment or two, Cas has himself back under control, nothing but a slight quaver in his voice betraying his emotions. “You got angry. You said you were disgusted with me. You told me to leave and never come back.”

Without another thought, Dean pulls Cas to him, holding him so tight it’s probably painful even for a celestial being.

“I would never, Cas,” he whispers, putting as much conviction into those words as he possibly can. “I would never say any of that shit to you. Even if I didn’t feel the same way.”

Cas pulls back, eyes scanning Dean’s face. “Even if?”

Dean tries for a smile, but he knows it ends up a little lopsided. “Why’d you think I kissed you, Cas?”

Cas is utterly still for a few seconds. Finally, he says, “You thought it would make me happy. It was a way to help me escape The Empty.”

Dean kind of feels like laughing, but even in his sleep-deprived, extremely confused and emotionally riled-up state, he realizes that’s probably not the best reaction right about now. So he goes for Plan B. “Yeah, that’s all true, Cas. But it was also because I love you, you complete dumbass.”

Cas falls back into him then, and before Dean can get his emotions or his limbs sorted out, Cas is touching their lips together. Their mouths slide against each other, movements deepening until Dean opens to Cas’ tongue and all the exhaustion and panic and confusion of the last few days just drains away.

“I should have known,” Cas pants out between kisses. “Should have known it wasn’t you.” He plants a kiss on the bolt of Dean's jaw. “But it went exactly the way I had imagined it in my own head so many times.” A trail of kisses, down the side of Dean's neck. “It’s why I never said anything before. I worried you’d send me away.”

“Me too,” Dean mumbles, hands fisting strands of Cas’ soft, full hair. “I mean, I worried about what you’d think of me too. It’s why I never said.”

“Then we’re both dumbasses,” Cas says, and Dean can feel the angel’s smile against his own mouth. It fades, though, when he adds, “That’s what The Empty made me dream about. Other things too. Purgatory, Lucifer. But mostly, telling you I loved you and being sent away.”

“You thought…” Dean touches his forehead to Cas’ and swallows, willing the words to come out steady. “You thought I did that to you, and you still came when my… my distress or whatever woke you up?”

“Of course.”

Dean moves away from Cas and back in front of the steering wheel and, for a second, Cas looks worried.

Dean reassures him with the brightest grin he can manage right now (which isn’t much, but it’ll have to do) and says, “I think we’ve done enough driving for today, don’t you? We’ll find the best damn hotel this podunk town has to offer and just… rest. Together.” Still, despite everything, feeling a little unsure of himself, Dean glances back at Cas as he turns the key in the ignition. “You want that?”

Cas is smiling at him; that broad, crinkly smile Dean remembers from the night they mourned Jack together, but without any trace of sadness to darken it this time.

“I want that.”

***

It turns out the best damn hotel in town isn’t half bad. It’s a boutique place with thick, fluffy rugs and walls painted in warm colors. Sturdy bedframes support clean, fresh-smelling linens.

Not that either of them get much time to focus on the décor, because as soon as their room’s door closes behind them, they’re kissing again.

Dean knows, rationally, that they have all the time in the world to do this, and he hasn’t slept, and even Cas looks tired, but just the thought of not touching each other in every way possible seems ridiculous.

By the time they make it to the bed, Cas’ trench coat, suit jacket, shoes, shirt and tie litter the floor, as do Dean’s jacket and flannel.

Dean just has the presence of mind to kick off his boots before he pushes Cas onto the bed beneath him and fumbles at his belt with unsteady fingers.

“This is taking too long,” Cas growls in Dean’s ear and takes matters into his own hands, undoing his own belt and fly and lifting his hips to slide his pants and boxer briefs off in a single smooth motion.

Dean’s breath hitches at the beautiful sight of Cas, blood-flushed and achingly hard and all for him.

His fingers feel clumsy again when he tries to get his own belt open (when did he get so bad at this?), but after an agonizingly long minute, his pants land on the floor. Cas sits up and paws at Dean’s shirt, in a valiant effort to get it off him.

When all cloth barriers are finally gone, Dean pauses and sits back on his heels, just letting himself take it all in for a minute. Miles of lightly tanned skin kneeling right in front of him on the mattress, muscled and lean and gorgeous.

“I’m never letting you leave again,” he finds himself saying. The words come out without conscious thought, but it doesn’t matter, because finally, after a decade of being kept apart and forced to keep secrets, they don’t have to do that anymore. Because Chuck is done putting obstacles in their way. And Dean’s sure they’ll find a way to make their own obstacles down the line, but right now, it couldn’t possibly matter less.

Head swimming with exhaustion but throbbing with the need to be touched, he reaches for Cas and pulls him in, bodies touching along their whole length. Cas rolls them so Dean is beneath him and grabs hold of Dean’s length, stroking gently, then harder.

Dean bites back a moan at the sensation, but then he lets go, rocking into Cas’ hand, and it’s good, so _good_.

He reaches for Cas in turn and basks in the almost agonized groan he gets in response.

Dean is still hovering just above Cas, far enough they can touch each other where it counts, but close enough to feel the heat radiating off each other. Their movements get faster, more desperate, to the tune of shallow breaths panting into each other’s mouths.

It takes only another minute for Dean to reach the edge, Cas following close behind. Dean rolls off Cas and flops down next to him on the mattress. They get comfortable on their sides, facing each other, limbs tangled.

When his brain kicks back into gear, Dean runs his thumb up and down Cas’ side, putting all the aching tenderness he feels into the touch.

“You know,” Cas says, eyes following his own fingers as they blaze a trail down the side of Dean’s neck onto his chest. “I’ve been thinking about what Chuck said. All the other worlds out there, and I died at Uriel’s hands every time. Why not here?”

Dean shrugs, meeting Cas’ eyes and pulling him closer. “You’re the original. The first Cas that Chuck made. Guess that makes you different. Just like Sam and I are different. We’re the ones who wouldn’t give Chuck his ending. We decided to make our own.”

Cas untangles himself just enough to reach for the sheets and pull them up. Then, he melts back into Dean. “Do you think if any of the other versions of me got to live, you and I would still be… like this?”

Dean grins. “In love, you mean?” He feels Cas freeze in his arms, reacting to the words that are still new between them. Dean kisses the top of Cas’ head to reassure him, just because he can. “I hope so. If not, that Cas and that Dean would be missing out.”

Dean lets his exhaustion catch up with him then and pull him under, secure in the knowledge that when he wakes up, Cas will be next to him and his world will be whole.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Come hang out with me on [tumblr](https://friendofcarlotta.tumblr.com) to scream about Destiel or read some of my weekly drabbles.
> 
> If you want to earn my undying gratitude, take a minute to [reblog this fic.](https://friendofcarlotta.tumblr.com/post/616147063085940736/a-hole-in-the-world)


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